


Still

by genmitsu



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jim is thirsty for Oswald in turn, Kissing, M/M, Oswald is thirsting after Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu
Summary: When everything’s against him, Jim shows up on Oswald’s doorstep.---This is like a missing scene from the Season 5 we were supposed to get.





	Still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stamppvindy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stamppvindy/gifts).



> Written as a belated birthday gift for stamppvindy. Hope you enjoy it!

 

A sharp knock on his door is not what Oswald expected to hear when he was getting ready for bed. He’s in one of his secret safehouses, for God’s sake! No one should know he’s here!

The knock repeats, insistent, urgent. Oswald rolls his eyes. Okay, so someone’s eager to test their luck and Oswald’s aim, so be it. Revolver at the ready, he opens the door.

He did not expect to see Jim Gordon, all bloody and exhausted, at his doorstep, either.

“Jim?” he asks, lowering his gun momentarily, stunned. Then his eyes flit towards the end of the hallway, checking if maybe it’s a distraction, a clever trap…

Jim stumbles into him before Oswald can assess the situation anyway. 

“Sorry,” Jim mumbles weakly. “Didn’t know where else to go…”

“L-let’s get you inside,” Oswald utters, shocked by - everything, really. He hasn’t seen Jim so weak in a long time, and his touch, well, not touch but  _ contact, _ is doing its magic. Oswald gives the hallway another quick glance, and, seeing no one there, ushers Jim into his flat.

“What happened, Jim?” he asks, leading him to sit on the couch. Jim seems conscious but he shuffles his feet obediently, and sits when told to, and he breathes heavily, and oh, Oswald doesn’t like this at all.

“They found me,” he mumbles. “Lost them in the subway, but…”

Oswald tsks. The state Jim’s in looks like a terrible ambush, four attackers at the least - nothing but the best for the Jim Gordon, right? Even he couldn’t have fought them off all at once.

He assesses Jim’s condition - mostly bruises, but they’re so numerous and who knows what damage was done with so many hits. There are several cuts too, definitely a knife wound on the upper arm, yet the most blood seems to be from a hit to the nose. Nothing particularly life-threatening, but… And there’s also concussion to take into the account, a bad one, if Jim is so meek.

“Wait here, Jim,” Oswald says softly and goes to get his first-aid kit.

The gangs got out of hand with the arrival of the demented force that was Jeremiah. The major hunt for all Gotham powers that could oppose him pushed even Oswald back, forcing him to regroup. And now they’ve gotten to Jim.

That requires retaliation, Oswald thinks coldly.

When he comes back, Jim is sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, looking almost peaceful. The weird thing is that he doesn’t look out of place in Oswald’s safehouse, not in the slightest, as if he was always meant to share it with him.

“Let me clean you up, Jim,” Oswald says softly before he starts patting at Jim’s skin with a damp cloth. Jim doesn’t flinch, he stays with his head turned towards him, his eyes still closed. As blood gets wiped away, Oswald notices a pretty deep cut on Jim’s cheekbone. Would it need stitching?

He readies the disinfectant and touches Jim’s cheek tentatively, steadying him. “It’s going to sting,” he warns, but Jim still jerks his head away and finally looks at him, blinking.

“Warned you,” Oswald smiles, trying not to show how captivated he is with Jim’s eyes up close.

“Yeah…” Jim bites on his lip. “Carry on, please.”

“How polite,” Oswald remarks as he touches Jim’s face again before applying more of the disinfectant to the cut. Jim hisses through his teeth but stays still, watching Oswald in turn. It makes Oswald suddenly wary of what his own face might show, and he concentrates fully on mending that cut. It doesn’t look too bad after it’s been cleaned, so he only applies a bandaid.

“Let’s take care of that slash,” Oswald says, quietly, and looks - anywhere, really, except at Jim’s face. “You’ll have to take your jacket off for me, Jim, and roll your sleeve.”

Jim pauses, but nods and shrugs out of his jacket, wincing. Then he looks at his arm, at that slash close to his bicep, and takes the shirt off as well. Oswald is so not ready to be exposed to Jim in only his undershirt, his shoulders bared and beautiful. So many years passed and he still gets his breath taken by James Gordon, it’s ridiculous. 

He bites on the inside of his cheek, reminding himself not to ogle the man who came to him for help, as a  _ friend.  _ Oswald bends over Jim again, wiping away the blood, too much of it from this superficial wound, a testament to how much Jim’s hurried to get away from his pursuers; and he disinfects it carefully and applies a bandage.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” he asks, tying it up. His voice sounds too quiet, as if speaking up would shatter this little moment and bring them back to reality where they’re not allowed to be this close.

“It’s good,” Jim says, equally quiet. “Thanks.”

Oswald nods, turning to put away the dirty gauze and the first-aid kit. Jim sits still, unmoving, and Oswald is very, very aware of his presence behind him, and tries to subdue his racing thoughts, but they’re as unstoppable as his heartbeat.

Jim is here with him - he came to him for help - he trusts him - he knew where his safehouse was…

“How did you know where to find me?” Oswald asks without turning, still busy with tidying up.

“I… I keep track,” Jim says, sounding… shy? and Oswald latches onto that piece of truth immediately.

“I’m surprised you haven’t shared this knowledge with the rest of the GCPD. Or should I expect visits from Gotham’s finest?”

“Just me,” Jim says. “No one else knows.”

“Why?” Oswald finally thinks he’s composed enough to face Jim and turns to look at him, but Jim is not sitting anymore, he got up at some point. Now he’s stepping closer to Oswald, and composure? Oswald doesn’t know it, not like this. His heart is beating like crazy, his breath is short, and oh God, Jim is right in front of him.

“I keep this for myself,” Jim says quietly. 

“What?..”

Then Jim catches his hand, bringing him closer still, almost into the embrace, and if Oswald remembers how to breathe it’s a fucking miracle, that’s what it is.

“You…” Jim says. “I keep you for myself, I’m selfish. I don’t want anyone else coming for you. I don’t want anyone else near you. You’re mine.”

“Jim, you’re… you’re concussed,” Oswald manages to utter, his heart suddenly aching. They messed Jim’s head up so badly he says things he doesn’t mean and oh, there will be hell to pay. He’ll  _ make _ them pay.

“Maybe I needed a bump on the head to get braver,” Jim says with a slight smile. “I mean it. Oswald, please… This city is going crazier by the minute and the only one that stays sane is you.” He embraces him fully now, presses him to his chest, and oh, Jim’s heart races as bad as his does. “I need you. Always.”

It’s like a shot, or a knife getting plunged into him, a sudden, inescapable sensation he has no control over. Those blue eyes are watching him carefully, those sure hands are touching him and oh God, is this really real?

“I’m still here, still alive and sane because of you,” Jim continues. “You keep helping me… and I keep needing you.”

Jim is leaning towards him, or is it him tilting forward? The result is the same - their lips meet, soft, silky, a caress that strikes his heart as sure as a sniper’s bullet, and his hands go around Jim in this moment of weakness, but when he gets startled by his own moan and freezes, Jim doesn’t let go. Jim holds him closer, smiling, leaning towards him again.

“I hoped you were feeling this way,” he says. “Still…”

“What arrogance,” Oswald smiles back and catches Jim’s face with his hands to bring him in for another kiss. “Such confidence in your own charm,” he says, unable to stop kissing Jim, small, soft kisses, and firmer, urgent ones.

“You love it,” Jim says, his hands sliding lower, almost to Oswald’s butt. “As I love yours.”

And maybe it’s not the Shakespeare’s grade of passionate confession, but Oswald wouldn’t trade it for anything else. It’s what Jim feels. It’s what he feels  _ for him.  _ In the insanity grasping their city they’re still finding each other - and surely, together they can overcome anything.

Oswald smiles as Jim deepens the kiss - demanding more of him, as always - selfish is the right word - but Jim also gets pliant when Oswald rises up to match him. He won’t ever get tired of this dance.

“We should get some rest,” Oswald says when they pause for breath, dazed and drunk from their exchange. “Plan our moves…”

“Yeah…” Jim agrees, nuzzling his neck. “Definitely…”

Jeremiah won’t know what would hit him, Oswald thinks, smiling, and they’d hit him hard, too.

But that could wait until tomorrow. 

 

 


End file.
